


home is where the heart is

by masi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/pseuds/masi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric struggles with writer’s block, his new duties as Viscount, and his troublesome feelings for Cassandra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	home is where the heart is

0\. 

 

Three months after the Inquisition disbands, Cassandra visits Kirkwall. When Varric hears the news of her arrival, that the ship is already in the harbor, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is “shit.” And then, with more feeling, “Well, shit.”

Varric is always happy to see old friends, to catch up and laugh about the past, play a few rounds of Wicked Grace, but some notice would have been nice. Cassandra could have sent him a letter before she decided to sail into the harbor on one of Divine Victoria’s ships. All of the guestrooms in the Keep are currently occupied by testy merchants and annoying nobles, and the city isn’t quite what he wants it to be yet.

But it’s too late now, so he does what he can in his office, hastily tidying it by stuffing the unanswered letters and petitions that have been gathering dust on his desk into the various chests located around the office and crumpling up the draft of the story he has been trying to work on for weeks. He asks Bran to send for a pot of tea. He is debating whether or not he should put his crown on when Cassandra barges into the room. 

She looks very put together and tall and professional, armor gleaming, face stern. There is no trace of that wonderful smile she had given him when they said goodbye to each other three months ago. The one that had made him feel, to his horror, a weakness in the knees that can be attributed to old age but probably isn’t.

“I am here on official business,” she tells Varric.

“Nice to see you visiting Kirkwall again, Seeker,” he replies. And then, for old times’ sake, “Are you sure you don’t want to tie me up this time?”

“No, I do not want to tie you up,” she says. 

She hesitates for a second before adding, “But I cannot promise that I will not change my mind.” 

He smiles, and when Cassandra smiles back, Varric finds that he can’t think of a single thing to say, so he has to take Cassandra out of the room immediately to dissipate the sudden awkwardness, forget teatime and catching-up, he has to introduce her to everyone in the Keep, he has to hand her over to Aveline. 

One friend meeting another. That’s what Cassandra is to him, Varric reminds himself, as Aveline leads Cassandra out of the Keep to give her a tour of Kirkwall. A friend and an ally. Nothing more, nothing less.

He really misses the old days, when he didn’t spend time trying to define what Cassandra was to him. It feels like just yesterday that she was trying to strangle him because he had withheld information about Hawke’s whereabouts. Their relationship was less complicated back then.

The relationship was fine too when they had established a grudging truce, when they were allies on the battlefield trying to protect what mattered most to them. Maybe, Varric reflects as he is locking his office door and heading out of the Keep himself, things changed when he was writing about her in _All This Shit is Weird_. Instead of attempting to depict her accurately, he introduced her as a person that would actually clutch at his vest and sob. Maybe that gave him weird ideas. 

Or maybe it was later, when he gave her a copy of the book of his own volition, without the Inquisitor acting as an intermediary. 

But the change is most likely a result of what happened as he was giving her the book, when he couldn’t stop smiling at her, and staring, and feeling something like love, as they stood next to each other, surrounded by their friends and bathed in the soft sunlight.

***

Cassandra is delighted with Aveline. The two of them walk ahead of him, engaged in a mind-numbingly boring conversation about topics such as the best polishing solution for one’s shield and the most practical yet pretty way to style hair when going up against a group of heavy-hitters. When Aveline begins to instruct Cassandra on ways to tell when Varric is lying, he decides that it is time for Cassandra to meet his other friends.

As Varric is leading Cassandra to The Hanged Man, she says in a low voice, “I am here, Varric, because Divine Victoria asked me to visit. She wants to make sure she has your support and loyalty.”

“You can tell her she has my support and loyalty, always, forever,” he replies. “And that I’m an excellent viscount. And that she never has to send any assassins after me.”

“I will tell her that I did not see burning effigies of you in the streets,” she says. “That is more than we expected.”

“I’m hurt, Seeker.” He puts a hand over his heart.

She smiles at him again, and Varric almost walks straight into Hawke, who is stepping out of The Hanged Man.

“Hawke,” Varric says, ignoring Hawke’s amused grin, “You remember Cassandra Pentaghast.”

“Oh, yes,” Hawke says, beaming at Cassandra, who blushes immediately. “How can I forget? Varric mentions you at least once each day, and twice on Tuesdays.”

“Hawke likes to exaggerate,” he says, when Cassandra raises an eyebrow at him. 

Hawke continues, “Cassandra, I’m glad you’re here! Maybe you can help us out with this minor issue of-”

“There’s no minor issue,” Varric says quickly. “We’ve got everything under control, and Hawke, the Seeker has come a long way to visit me, with her own official business, so let’s not trouble her with icky Kirkwall politics.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Cassandra says. She draws her shoulders back farther and lifts her chin.

Hawke glances at Varric. He shakes his head. She gives him a look that says, quite clearly, that he is digging his own grave.

She wants to talk about the small problem involving the Inquisitor’s house, but he has that situation under control, or he will, once he puts his mind to it. There is no need for Cassandra to get involved. It’s one thing for Bran to constantly nag at him about being a better viscount, but it’s another for Cassandra to think that he’s neglecting his duties and then lecture him. 

“Hawke, we’ll see you later,” Varric says. “Drinks on me tonight, alright?”

“Have it your way,” Hawke replies. “But, just a word of advice, in the early stages of a relationship, it’s better to-”

“Really?” Varric says.

“Right.” Hawke smiles. “Never mind. Have fun you two. I’ll be over at Hightown Estates, cleaning up another mess.”

“What kind of mess?” Cassandra asks as Hawke walks around them to reach the sidewalk.

“A literal one, in a house,” Hawke says. “Bye bye now. Play nice with Varric. Don’t tie him up to a chair this time, Cassandra. Unless you two are into that kind of thing?”

“We are not.” Cassandra sounds simultaneously offended and embarrassed.

After Hawke has left the area, she coughs, clears her throat, looks at him and then away from him, says, “So, is the Champion cleaning houses now? Why?”

“There’s nothing else for her to do,” Varric says, “since Kirkwall has become such an upstanding city-state under my leadership.” He motions to the entryway of The Hanged Man. “After you, Seeker.”

***

He wasn’t planning on it, but when he is showing Cassandra his old room at the Hanged Man, at the place where he spent hours writing his novel, at the splotches of dried ink on the desk from when he would fall asleep on his manuscript and his inkwell would tip over, he thinks that it would be a great idea to kiss her. 

Before he can talk himself out of it, he takes her hand. Then he tugs her down, and he kisses her on the mouth.

Cassandra, as he had expected, does not take this easily and casually. She looks shocked for a whole five minutes. Then she blushes. Then she complains about Varric’s lack of romantic spirit.

She does not kiss him back until they have returned to the Keep that night, both of them standing just inside his dressing room, which has been hastily cleaned up and outfitted with a cot for her. She kisses him, and then she moves farther into the room, unbuckling her sword from her waist and then reaching for her breastplate. Varric has seen her doing this before, seen her settling into various and sundry tents strewn across Ferelden and Orlais, but there is something more intimate in this setting, an extension of his bedroom, the Keep almost quiet around them. His throat is dry, and he wants, so much.

When he reaches for her, however, she says, “Not yet, Varric. You must court me properly first.” 

But she kisses him with an open mouth and affectionate hands, and there is fondness in her beautiful eyes as she looks at him. 

***

Cassandra’s fondness for him only lasts until dawn, when she goes for an early morning power-walk around the city and discovers what Hawke was trying to tell her yesterday, that their beloved Inquisitor’s estate has been taken over by squatters. 

When Varric arrives at the scene, he finds Fenris saying, “Was it really necessary to wake up the whole neighborhood?”

“You weren’t sleeping,” Cassandra says. “You were walking to your house.”

“I was feeling pleasantly drowsy.” Fenris wipes blood off of his toes and onto the pathway that leads to the Inquisitor’s house. “I’ve had a long night.”

He was probably out fighting Tevinter slavers again. Varric tries to catch his eye, but Fenris isn’t looking in his direction.

The squatters – a group of five smugglers – are standing outside the house with their treasure chests. Cassandra has taken their weapons and has her sword pointed in their direction. They don’t look like they are about to attack, unlike the smugglers that frequented the Docks during Viscount Dumar’s time. 

Cassandra, after shaking her head at Varric and making many disgusted noises, calls over a few members of the morning patrol. She tells them to escort the smugglers out of the city. After they have left, Varric says, “Well, problem solved, I guess. No harm done.”

Fenris remarks, “I wonder who’ll decide to settle there next. It was operating as a branch of the Blooming Rose last month.”

Cassandra gasps. Varric says quickly, “Thank you, Fenris. I’m sure you had a long night. How about you go get some shut-eye?”

Fenris glances at Cassandra. “You haven’t introduced me to your friend yet.”

Hawke shows up at this time. She looks like she is having a good morning. There is a bright glow to her cheeks, and she and her mabari are wearing matching scarves. She says, “The Blooming Rose clients were better behaved than this lot. And Serendipity used to invite me over whenever they received a shipment of those gigantic Orlesian cakes, you remember, Fenris?”

Cassandra finds her voice again. She says, “How could you let this happen, Varric?” 

“Hawke was supposed to take care of this yesterday,” Varric says. 

He can’t help feeling a little let down. He had thought Hawke would make more of an effort to solve this problem. She knows that Cassandra is one of his friends and that he wants to make a good impression. Hawke had showed up late to The Hanged Man last night, and he had assumed it was because she was busy persuading the squatters to leave.

“Varric, I’m sorry,” Hawke says now. “I told those guys yesterday that they needed to leave by nightfall, and I was going to drop by the house again to check, but Bran wanted me to check up on something, and then Merrill wanted to talk, and then there was something else. Sorry, okay?”

“It’s not your fault, Champion,” Cassandra says before Varric can reply. “Varric shouldn’t have been so careless. He should have kept a proper household staff here. And he shouldn’t give you so much work to do.”

“He doesn’t,” Hawke says.

“I understand that he is your friend, but you do not have to defend him in this case,” Cassandra says.

Varric has been expecting a reprimand, but it doesn’t sting any less. He says to Cassandra, “Give me a little credit here, Seeker. I’m trying my best, okay? Anyway, it’s not like you’ve never made any mistakes before.”

“I never neglect my duties,” she says.

“Yeah, but you sure know how to fuck up while you’re doing your duties. Are you forgetting the mistakes you made while you were leading the Inquisition? Remember how I was able to sneak Hawke into Skyhold right past you?”

“Fenris,” Hawke says, tone bright and cheery, “I have a new book for you to read! Let’s go over to my place. I want you to tell me how horrible the book is, in exhaustive detail.”

Varric watches them walk away, wishing he could go with them. He hates arguing in public. It takes him awhile before he can meet Cassandra’s gaze.

Cassandra had looked so content last night. Now there is a dark streak of red over her high cheekbones. Her hands are twitching.

A part of Varric wants to apologize and then explain that the situation with the house is nothing new, things like this happen all the time in Kirkwall. Another part is kind of grateful for the current state of affairs between them, the familiarity of it. What happened last night, things like romance, aren’t really for him. Yet another part suggests that he pull her down and drag his tongue over the cheekbones, taste the red heat of her anger. 

***

Needless to say, the rest of the day does not go well. Cassandra reiterates all of his faults, past and present, to his face as she follows him back to the Keep and once they are inside his office as well. He’s a liar; he is indecisive; he is careless; he only cares about two people, himself and maybe the Champion. 

She also decides to cut the visit short. She is going to leave tomorrow. She has other visits to make, for business and for pleasure. She is going to Antiva City again, where she wants to meet up with Yvette and read the latest bestselling romance, which is “much more romantic than _Swords and Shields_ ,” she informs him, and by an author named Dan’el Mythril, who “has a romantic spirit” and “believes in happy endings.” She is going to write to the Inquisitor too, tell her to visit Kirkwall.

Varric considers showing her his ledgers so that she can see how well Kirkwall has been doing, how it is a major trade hub again. But Cassandra is the type of person who is quick to anger, quick to forgive, and reasonable. She will forgive him, and maybe apologize, and things will be awkward between them again. He isn’t sure he wants that. So, he says and does nothing. 

Later, as Cassandra is boarding the ship headed for Ferelden, she says, “I will tell the Inquisitor to put the house up for rent.” She turns her back on him. 

And then she turns around to look at him again. Her glare softens a bit as she says, “Varric, you need to do better. I know you can.”

 

1.

 

Lavellan walks into his office in the first month of the winter season. She is wrapped up in a thick coat, the tips of her ears and nose a bit pink. Varric is glad to see her. He wants to hug her, and ask about her travels, and pour her a stiff drink. He feels like a father, reunited with a long absent daughter.

The emotional moment is ruined promptly by Cullen, who walks in after her in full armor and a lion helmet clasped under his arm. Varric can hear a dog barking in the hallway. Cullen’s, probably.

“There’s really no need for the armor, Curly,” Varric says. “No one has tried to attack me in weeks. But watch out for Bran. He gets this look in his eye sometimes, like he’s thinking about poisoning me.”

Bran says, “Poisoning would be too much of a hassle. Better to toss you into a dragon’s mouth in plain view of everyone.”

“See, he’s got this all figured out.”

Lavellan looks at Bran, then at Varric, mild concern in her eyes. Varric waves Bran away. Once the door has closed, he motions for her and Cullen to sit down.

As he is pouring out tea for them, he watches Cullen out of the corner of his eye. Cullen has finally set his helmet down on the floor, but he keeps looking at the door. His hair isn’t styled as carefully as usual, and some of the strands are curling over his forehead. 

“You have a nice office,” Lavellan remarks as she shrugs off her coat. She is wearing a fitted blazer underneath. The left sleeve of the blazer has been pinned up neatly.

After giving him a friendly smile, she says, “And the reconstruction efforts in the city seem to be coming along nicely. Cassandra said that you were neglecting your duties, and that I should give you a stern talking-to, but I knew she was just being overly concerned. You’re doing a great job, Varric.”

“Thanks.” Varric sits down at his desk. “Can you write to her and tell her that? She might not believe you though. Maybe she’ll come charging into the city to see for herself, heh.”

“Yes, of course I will write to her,” she replies, before glancing at Cullen.

Cullen is drinking his tea grimly. Varric can’t remember the last time he saw him so silent. The Cullen Rutherford he knows isn’t well-versed in the art of small talk, but he is usually louder than this, fond of arguing with people, given to scowling and making his displeasure known.

“How was the visit to the family?” Varric asks. “Let me guess, the first argument started at dinner, right before the second course was served. Family, huh? Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”

Cullen frowns as he says, “No, there were no arguments.”

“We had a wonderful time,” Lavellan says. “Cullen’s sisters and brother were very welcoming. And, look.” She reaches into her coat and produces a portrait miniature, which she places on the desk. “This is my nephew. Well, Cullen’s nephew. Isn’t he adorable? He turned five recently.”

She pushes the miniature closer to Cullen, and she leaves it there for a few seconds, her gaze fixed on her husband, before sliding it over to Varric and smiling. Whatever she is doing, it is working, because the crease between Cullen’s eyebrows starts to disappear and he relaxes a bit in his seat. 

Varric takes a look at the picture. It’s nothing extraordinary. A chubby kid posing with a toothy smile.

“Cute,” Varric says. “You two thinking of having one of your own anytime soon?”

“Oh, not yet.” Lavellan tucks the miniature back into her coat and picks up her cup of tea. “We’ve only just gotten settled into our new house in Ferelden.”

“Speaking of which.” Varric reaches into his desk and pulls out a set of keys. “Let me show you your house in Kirkwall.”

***

Lavellan is vague about how long she plans to stay in Kirkwall, but she says that she will try to stay for a few weeks at least. Varric is glad. She is helpful to have around, unlike Cassandra. He is able to delegate about half of his daily tasks to her and give Hawke a well-earned vacation. And the nobles of Kirkwall are currently delighted with her, their newest countess, because tourism in the city has been booming since she arrived. 

Her only fault is that she isn’t as reliable as Cassandra. Lavellan can get hung up on strange things sometimes, and then she takes too long to finish the task at hand. For example, when she was asked to respond to a letter sent by a Rivaini merchant, she spent half a day reading Rivaini poems before writing her reply. And, at other times, she does whatever she wants too hastily, without thinking of the consequences, without consulting anyone else, and Varric has to step in and smooth things over.

She seems to be doing okay, health-wise. Varric had been worried when the mark on her hand started flaring up during the Exalted Council, and especially after she lost part of her left arm. That can’t be easy for anyone, and especially not for a two-handed warrior. But she has taught herself how to use a dagger since then, and she told him that Dagna is working on a prosthetic arm for her. Cullen helps her out with certain things in the meantime, like braiding her hair, and at a charity dinner a few nights ago, Varric saw him stick a fork in the steak on her plate, without needing to be asked, while she cut the meat into two even pieces.

Cullen, however, seems a little lost and uncomfortable in general, more so than he did after the Rebellion. He has a pinched look on his face when he is walking on the streets, and Lavellan said that he has been having trouble sleeping. Varric remembers Cullen saying years ago, when they were on the ship heading out of Kirkwall to join Cassandra’s Inquisition, that he was ready to leave “all of it.”

Varric understands. He hopes that Cullen will be able to make peace with his unsavory past eventually. But he also needs Lavellan to stay in Kirkwall, not be pressured into returning to Ferelden.

To make things easier for Cullen, Varric decides to persuade Hawke to be more neighborly. “How about you two walk your dogs together in the morning,” he says. “Or arrange play dates for them.”

“Fine,” she says. “But, you know, I found Cullen standing just outside the Gallows the other day, staring vacantly into space.”

“Maybe he was having a bad day.” Varric shrugs. “He’s been helping the lyrium addicts in Lowtown.”

“Alright,” Hawke says, but she sounds doubtful. 

“Thanks, Hawke.”

***

A month later, Lavellan invites Varric over to her house so that he can see her new library room and have dinner with her and Cullen. He is perusing the rather boring collection – not a single volume of fiction aside from his own works, and numerous tomes about the Tevinter Imperium, probably sent by Dorian – in the sparsely decorated library when he hears a door open. The dog starts to bark, and Lavellan says, “Cullen is home. I’ll call you when dinner is ready, alright?”

“Ellana,” Varric hears Cullen call.

Lavellan, fixing her braids, walks out of the library. Varric edges closer to the door. When he looks out, he sees that she is halfway to the foyer already. 

Cullen walks into the sitting room. “You’re home early,” he says. He sounds more than a little pleased.

To Varric’s surprise, he then lifts Lavellan up into his arms, twirls her around once. Varric backs away, farther into the library, as he hears Cullen murmur, “It’s good to see you.”

Varric had thought that newly-weds and couples in a long-distance relationship were the only ones who could keep romance alive, but these two seem to still like each other. Good for them. He can’t remember the last time he has held anyone like that. 

He misses Bianca, suddenly and fiercely, what they had together. It would have been nice to have something like this, a home for the two of them, a place where he could feel like he truly belonged in the city that he loves. He wishes he had tried harder for the both of them.

But really, Varric reminds himself as he walks into the dining room later, their relationship was doomed from the beginning. He and Bianca know how to have a good laugh together, but she has always been too good for him. Also, Bianca’s family has a unique understanding about what it means to welcome people with open arms, that’s for sure.

It’s too late for him now, Varric tells himself over the meticulously arranged dinner. He is too swamped with work to be able to start up a relationship with anyone else, especially Cassandra, who deserves his very best and more. A quick fuck whenever he needs it is the way to go. All a writer needs is his writing anyway. 

So, when Cullen asks about his writing, Varric launches into an embellished tale about how well it’s coming along. There’s no need for Cullen, who has clearly lost all interest in the conversation about two seconds after Varric started speaking, to know that Varric has been suffering from writer’s block for months. “You don’t have a single chapter for me to read?” his editor asked the other day, and he had thought, there it is, the writing on the wall.

“What do you think of the squash?” Lavellan asks.

Varric blinks a few times, trying to focus. He looks at the lump of squash on his plate. It’s too stringy, and there are clumps of halla cheese on it, along with actual flowers. When he puts a spoonful of the squash into his mouth, however, he is surprised by how good it tastes, salty and warm, nourishing.

“The Keeper was much better at making it.” She sighs. “The dish is called Deep Forest Comfort. Merrill helped me find the halla cheese and borage in the Lowtown marketplace. She’s a treasure.”

“It’s fantastic,” Cullen says. “And you’re supposed to eat the flowers with the squash, Varric.”

“This is the best thing I’ve eaten in years,” Varric says, and he puts one of the flowers into his mouth.

He could write another adventure story, he decides half an hour later, watching Lavellan fuss over the pie Cullen has brought in from the kitchen. This series will finally feature a dwarf as the protagonist. A hardboiled rogue, no, warrior, who travels the world and doesn’t care about things like “belonging” to any particular group of people or place, who isn’t pining for anyone, who wasn’t locked up in the Deep Roads by the only family he has left, who hasn’t made stupid mistakes that led to horrible things happening to people he cares about, who is not afraid of change. And maybe the story will have a happy ending for once. Wasn’t that one of Cassandra’s complaints, that he did not write happy endings.

“I was surprised to find cherries in the market this early,” Cullen says, while Lavellan pokes at the cherries and adds more cream. “Kirkwall is much changed.”

“For the better,” Lavellan says. “Thanks to all those who have worked hard to change it and continue to do so.” 

Cullen puts a slice of pie on a plate, and she places it in front of Varric.

***

A few weeks later, Lavellan tells him that she is planning to return to Ferelden and that it will probably be a good idea to put her house up for rent to prevent further “complications.”

“Why?” Varric asks. He tries to swallow his disappointment. “No, let me guess, you two innocents found a stash of sex toys somewhere in the house. I tried to clean the place up before you arrived, but I must have missed some.”

Lavellan laughs. “We did find a few, but no, that’s not the reason. I really am sorry that I have to leave, Varric.”

“What can I do to make you stay?”

“Nothing. I have enjoyed my time here. There are so many wonderful people. And Isabela has been teaching me how to use my daggers effectively. It’s just …” She smiles, a bit wistful. “I miss the forests and fields. Feeling the grass underneath my feet. I’m not a city girl.”

“You’re also leaving for Cullen’s sake, aren’t you?”

“Yes, he is much happier at our other house, and its closer to his family. And we’ve gotten used to a quieter life, trying to help others in our own small ways. For the time being.” 

She pauses. Then she continues in a lower voice, “We also have another project that we’re working on, regarding our erstwhile companion Solas.”

“Oh yeah. Chuckles. I remember him. What are you planning to do about him?”

“I’ll keep you informed.”

“As long as your plans don’t involve dragons or the Deep Roads, you can count me in.”

Lavellan stands up, smiling again. “Thank you for everything, Varric. Take care of yourself.” She reaches into the breast pocket of her coat and produces the key he had given her at the Exalted Council. “Here.”

“No, you keep that.”

“But what will you do if there is an attack on the city? How will you close the channel?”

“You’ll have to come save us, of course.”

She puts the key back into her pocket. She puts her coat back on. Then she walks around the desk and hugs Varric. 

“This isn’t goodbye,” he says. 

He hugs her tightly. Her bones feel fragile inside the circle of his arms. The stump of her left arm is resting against his shoulder, and he can’t help thinking of the missing hand, the many times she used that hand to save him.

Lavellan says, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

2.

 

Varric receives a letter from Cassandra several weeks after Lavellan leaves Kirkwall. In it, Cassandra apologizes for her “hasty words” and says that she is pleased to hear that he is making efforts to be a dutiful viscount. She is currently in Nevarra, visiting her uncle and going on fun family trips to see ferocious dragons.

“Varric really knows how to pick ‘em,” Hawke says to Bran as Varric is stuffing the letter into his desk drawer.

“But will he ever learn how to keep them?” Bran says. “No.”

Varric has been getting heaps of criticism lately, from all quarters. Bran is an ever-present fount of disapproval, of course. And the nobles haven’t been pleased with Varric since Lavellan and Cullen left the city. And his editor is threatening to drop him and find younger, fresher blood to promote, a person who can actually complete a cohesive chapter and send it to her within an allotted time. “The guy who was plagiarizing your work a few years ago can write better than this,” she said after reading the manuscript of the adventure story he has finally managed to write. “What is this wish-fulfillment shit? The only thing that might salvage it is a sex scene, or five.”

What he needs is a change of scenery. A break from his stressful, thankless job before all of his hair turns white. A bit of time to work on a new novel. He never wanted to be a viscount, especially of Kirkwall, a city constantly trying and failing to break away from the chains of its ugly history.

When summer arrives, he decides to ask Hawke for a favor. He will ask her to take care of the city for a month while he travels. The nobles might protest when they hear about this arrangement, but he knows they won’t sack him. 

He feels bad about asking this favor, of course. Hawke works almost as hard as him to keep the city running smoothly. She is also the one who finds tenants for Lavellan’s house these days. Varric hasn’t met the most recent tenant yet, but Hawke said that the lady is paying her rent on time. 

But he really needs this vacation, and he’ll make it up to her, a thousand times over. So, he goes over to Hawke’s house one night with the keys to his office and a bottle of Antivan wine. At the door, he tightens his ponytail, puts on a big smile, and knocks.

Orana lets him in and shows him into the library, where Hawke is crouching on the floor, rummaging around in a chest near her desk. 

“Varric!” Hawke says. “What can I do you for?”

There is a slightly guilty look in her bright blue eyes, so, before she can close the chest, he takes a quick look inside. 

He sees an unfamiliar chestpiece, finely made. Drakeskin armor, suited for a smaller frame than Hawke’s. Varric asks, “Holding onto that for someone?” 

“Maybe I’ll sell it.” Hawke locks the chest. She takes the bottle of wine out of his hand.

“It would fetch a good amount of coin. How about you give it to me, and I’ll sell it. We can split the money, eighty-twenty.”

She pouts for a moment before sighing. “Fine, Ser Nosy. It belongs to the Warden. I take it you’ve heard of her? Saved Ferelden or something like that. She’s currently in Kirkwall.”

Varric has to sit down after hearing this. He passes a hand over his face. When he has found the strength to speak again, he asks, “How long has she been here? And why am I hearing about this now?”

“You have heard about her. Indirectly. Who do you think is living in Lavellan’s house?”

“She’s the new tenant? What’s she doing there? Hiding from someone?”

“She was injured, and she wanted a place to stay while she recovers and plans her next big project.” Hawke smiles. “Want to meet her?”

***

Hawke has a copy of the keys to the house, but she knocks once before opening the front doors. “Tabris is a bit broody at times,” she whispers to Varric as they pass through the dark foyer. “Like Fenris. And don’t try to enter into any business negotiations with her. She’ll bleed you dry. Also, we don’t talk about Alistair, the Fade, Anora, Denerim, or the Grey Wardens.”

“Oh, is that all?” Varric says. “She sounds like a perfectly friendly person.”

They find Tabris in the library, which has now been stripped of everything except for a sword stand, one desk, and two chairs placed near a dying fire. Tabris is seated on the desk. She is polishing a sword that is almost the same height as herself.

Hawke goes into the kitchen and brings out a tray of what looks like leftover soup and stale bread. Varric declines when she tells him to dig in. Shrugging, she places the tray next to Tabris and then sits down with a bowl of soup. Varric remains standing. Tabris ignores them both.

After about ten minutes of this, Varric says, “I hope you’re enjoying your stay in Kirkwall, Ms. Tabris. And that you won’t need to use your sword anytime soon.”

“You can never trust these shems,” she replies. She flips the sword over. The edges gleam. “They turn on you so fast.”

“Sad but true,” Varric says. “The only exception is Hawke. She’ll never let me down.”

“Thanks, Varric.” Hawke beams at him. “The feeling goes both ways.”

Tabris watches him for a moment. She has an eerie, haunted gaze, and he finds himself holding his breath until she finally turns to Hawke. 

She says, “You haven’t told him?”

“You don’t have to say it like that.” Hawke puts her feet up on the spare chair. “That was a tad dramatic.”

“Tell me what?” Varric asks.

Tabris props her sword up against the wall and picks up a shield, which she starts polishing with great concentration. Hawke isn’t speaking either. She has finished her soup and seems to have gone to sleep in her chair.

“Fine,” Varric says. “Since you two have clearly taken a vow of silence, I’ll say my piece instead. I need a vacation. Hawke, please cover for me for a month.”

“Anything for you, my friend,” Hawke replies.

“Great.” Varric feels like a great load has been lifted off his shoulders. He knows that there is a good chance that Kirkwall will end up in flames again under Hawke’s leadership, but he also knows that Hawke won’t do this intentionally.

“You will take your vacation after we return,” Tabris says, in a voice that brooks no argument.

He asks, “Where are you going to be returning from?”

“The Fade.”

Varric was expecting to hear something like the Anderfels, or the Deep Roads, or maybe even Tevinter, which seems to be the newest popular vacation spot. “The Fade?” he repeats. “I thought we weren’t allowed to talk about the Fade.”

Hawke clears her throat. “It’s okay to talk about it when Kallian brings it up.”

“But how are you planning to enter it?” he asks. The “why” of it is clear. Tabris wants to find Alistair, or at least see for herself the place where he was last seen. Everyone craves closure.

“That’s none of your business,” Tabris says. 

Then she seems to reconsider. She continues, “But you can make it your business. For a small fee, you can come along with us. We could use an extra pair of hands and a silver tongue on our journey. You’ll have to persuade the mages that we encounter along the way to help us enter the Fade. Leave Seneschal Bran in charge of the city.”

“No,” Hawke says. “He can’t be away from Kirkwall for that long. The nobles will replace him, and that’s bad for all of us, very bad.”

“What about you, Hawke?” Varric asks. “You’re going to be gone for that long?”

“I’m going with Tabris to the Western Approach, and then I’ll be back. But that’s still a long journey, Varric. And it will be very troublesome for you. Remember how much you dislike braving the elements?”

It’s been months since he left the city. And while he would rather go on another expedition to the Deep Roads than to the Fade, a trip fraught with danger may be just what needs to overcome his writer’s block. Also, it might not be all bad, there could be peaceful, almost fun moments in between the hair-raising experiences and life-and-death situations. The three of them camped out on the cold, hard earth, listening to the foxes screaming in the forests and the bears thudding gently towards the campsite.

“Can I invite one more person on this trip?” he asks.

Hawke gives him a consoling smile and says, “I have a better idea.”

 

3.

 

Varric has a room ready for Cassandra this time, a large one next to his own in the Keep, with a weapons rack and an empty armoire along the wall, soft sheets on the bed, and a desk on which he has placed flowers, chocolate, and a draft of the next installment of _Swords and Shields_. He goes up to the lighthouse on the morning of her arrival, and he watches the ship come into the harbor. After it has docked safely, he goes down to the docks and waits for her to disembark.

Cassandra has not changed much in appearance, no new scars on her face or visible wounds anywhere. Her frown is more contemplative than angry. She looks him up and down once, like she is checking for injuries also, before raising an eyebrow and saying, “You are wearing your crown.”

“Thought I’d greet you and your men in style.” He nods to the soldiers carrying crates off the ship. “You like it?”

“It is strange to see you wearing it.”

He takes the crown off, tugs her down, and places it on her head. “There, that’s better,” he says.

“Varric!” She protests, taking it off. “This is highly improper.”

“Come on, humor me. It looks great on you.”

“It’s too big for my head,” she says, but she puts it back on, tilting it until the crown resembles a headband.

Varric considers telling her that she looks grand, but that can come later, when things are better between them. He says, “Let’s get moving, shall we? There’s only so long I can stand on the docks before the smell of fish makes me want to puke.”

“Is there anything you don’t complain about?” Cassandra asks as she falls into step behind him. 

“Complaining is one of my defining character traits. You wouldn’t recognize me otherwise.”

When she shakes her head, looking fond, he smiles and asks, “Had a good journey?”

“I cannot complain. There was one major storm as the ship was approaching Kirkwall, and I was worried about the gifts Leliana sent, but they are fine. She wants you to know that she is pleased with your progress.”

“Oh, good. As long as Leliana is pleased.”

Cassandra frowns at him and then adjusts the crown, which is sliding down her forehead. “Anyway, Varric. What is this about a very famous person you want me to meet? You could have mentioned the name in your letter. This better be worth it.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.” 

He takes her to Lavellan’s house, and at the door, he says, “Remember how you and Nightingale were looking for the Hero of Ferelden before you came to Kirkwall to find Hawke?”

“Leliana has established contact with her since then,” Cassandra says.

“But have you met her? No, right? Don’t you want to meet her?”

Varric waits, hoping. Hawke had promised this would work. She said that Cassandra would appreciate this gesture, and they would be friends again. Hawke had also made a few suggestive comments about what might transpire after the reconciliation, but Varric has the purest of intentions. He just wants things to be okay between him and Cassandra again. He wants Cassandra to stay in Kirkwall for a while. Anything else is an added bonus.

Cassandra looks up at the windows of the house. “The Hero of Ferelden is truly inside?” she asks. “Are you speaking the truth, Varric, or are you lying to me again?”

“I’m one hundred percent telling the truth, Seeker. She was about to leave last month, but I persuaded her to stay so that you could meet her.”

Cassandra straightens her shoulders and takes the crown off of her head. “Fine,” she says. “Introduce me to her.”

***

Tabris tries, briefly, to persuade Cassandra to join her and Hawke on the trip to the Western Approach. To Varric’s immense relief, Cassandra politely declines. She returns to the Keep with him.

She hovers around him as he works that day, looking at his ledgers and letters with an approving eye, sitting in on some of his meetings and holding her complaints in until they have returned to his office. It is almost relaxing. He wants it to last.

After the day is done, she invites him to her room. She thanks him for the gifts he has left on the desk. The flowers are beautiful, she says, and the chocolates are grand, and she can’t wait to read the next chapter of his novel. 

He sits down on the armchair, a little embarrassed. “So,” he says. “Tell me about those dragons. And your uncle.”

She sits on the edge of the bed and starts on her story. As he had expected, she is about as good at storytelling as Fenris is at small talk. She starts at the end, then goes to the beginning, she interrupts herself often. The gist of it is that she and her uncle are on better terms now, and that she met several fine dragons and then got into fights with the hunters who were trying to capture them.

She is moving her hands as she talks, her gloves off, and he notices them towards the end, the scars crisscrossing over her skin. When she is done, Varric takes her hands in his own and presses his lips to them. 

“You’ve changed,” she remarks, her tone gruff and at odds with the blush taking over her face.

“I think I missed you, Seeker.”

“Cassandra,” she says. “You can call me by name, you know.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Cassandra,” Varric says. “And I want you to know that you can stay here for as long as you like. Think of Kirkwall as home.”

Immediately after this heartfelt declaration, he feels like he has said too much, so he tries to lighten the situation by laughing and saying, “Hey, why don’t you become the next tenant of Lavellan’s house? That would solve one of my problems, and you-”

“Thank you, Varric,” Cassandra says. She pulls him out of the chair. “But I feel perfectly at home right here.” She puts her hands on either side of his face and kisses him.

He puts his arms around her shoulders and returns the kiss. He holds her close.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
